Beadle's Dime Library No. 151 — page 7: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

~- a et eat i ( fr ' y/ = oe ee oo? =] —- = ae - « Om ea? TS oo Hie a gy ee —— The Freebooters. “ As you insist on it I will give way.” “Very good; you are becoming reasonable,” Fran- quil sai with’e smile. **Good-night, brother. ° -night!"’ Loyal Heart answered. The young man, in the face of the resolve so clear- ly made by the Canadian, thought it useless longer to a the more so as he was pes cog to feel great inclination fer sleep. He, therefore, lay down and was soon sound asleep. Tranquil had spoken the truth; he required to isolate himself for some hours, in order to go over the events which d the last few days had fallen upon him so une; t- edly and broken up that placidity of life to which he had grown gently accustomed for some years past. The hours passed away one after the other, but the hunter, plunged in his reflections, felt no desire for sleep. The stars were beginning to go out, the horizon was crossed by pale bands, the breeze grew sharper and colder; all foreboded, in fact, the ap- proach of dawn, when suddenly a slight noise, re- sembling that produced by the fracture of a withered branch, smote on the hunter’s practiced ear, and caused him to start. The Canadian, without stir- ring, raised his head and listened, while softly plac- ‘ing his hand on the rifle that lay by his side. CHAPTER VIL. AN OLD FRIEND, TRANQUIL was too old and too crafty a wood-ranger to let himself be surprised. With his eyes obstinate- ly fixed on the spot whence the sound that had aroused him came, he tried to pierce the darkness and distinguish any movement in the chaparral which would permit him to form probable conjec- tures as to the visitors who were arriving. For a long period the noise he had heard was not repeated, and the desert had fallen back into silence. But the Canadian did not deceive himself. Up to all Indian tricks,and knowing the unbounded , tience of the red-skins, he continued to keep on his guard; still, as he suspected that in the darkness searching glances were fixed on him and spying his slightest movements, Tranquil yawned twice or thrice, as if overcome by sleep, drew back the hand he had laid on his rifle-barrel, and protennes be unable to resist sleep any longer, he let his head sink on his chest with a natural movement. Nothing stirred. Av hour elapsed ere the slightest noise disturbed the silence of the forest. Still, Tranquil felt confident that he had not deceived him- self. Thegsky grew gradually brighter, the last star had disa , the horizon was assuming those fiery-red tints which immediately precede the ap- nce of the sun; the Canadian, weary of this ong wate , and not knowing to what he should attribute tkié inaction on the part of tbe red-skins, resolved at last to obtain the solution of the enigma. He therefore started suddenly to his feet and took up his rifle. : At the moment he’prepared to go on the discovery, a noise of footsteps near him, mingled with the rust- ling of leaves, and the breaking of dry branches, smote his ear. “Ah, ah!’ the Canadian muttered, “it seems they have made up their mind at last; let us see who these troublesome neighbors are.” At the same instant, a clear feminine voice rose harmoniously and sonorously in the silence. Tran- quil s with a start of surprise. This voice was singiug an Indian melody, of which this was the first verse— *T confide my heart to thee in the name of the Omnipotent. Iam unhappy, and no one takes pity on me; Still is great in my eyes.” “Oh!” the hunter muttered, with a nervous quiv- eg TF I know that song, it is that of the betrothed of Snake-Pawnees. How isit that these words strike my ear so far from their hunting grounds? Can a detachment of Pawnees be wandering in the neighborhood? Oh, no! that is impossible. I will see wuo this singer is who has awaked with the sun.”’ Without further hesitation, the hunter walked hurri toward the thicket, from the center of which the melody had been audible. But at the moment he was about to enter it, the shrubs were quickly d, and two red-skins entered the clear- ing, to the amazement of the Canadian. | n coming within ten pores of the hunter the In- dians stopped, and stretched their arms out in front of them, with rs parted in sign of peace; then, their their arms on their chest, they waited. At this manifestation of the peaceful sentiments of the new-comers, the Canadian rested the butt of his rifle on the ground, and examined the Indians with rapid glance. e first was a man of lofty stature, with intelli- gent features and open countenance; as far as it was possible to judge the age of an Indian, this man seemed to have passed the middle stage of life. He was dressed in his full war-paint, and the condor pn fastened above his right ear, indicated that e the rank of a sachem in his tribe. The other red-skin was not a man, but a woman, twenty years of age at the most; she was slim, act- ive, and el t, and her dress was decorated in ac- cordance with the rules of Indian coquetry; still, her worn features, on which only the fugitive traces of a prematurely vanished beauty were visible, showed that, like all Indian squaws, she had been perce 4 compelled to do all those rude household tasks, the whole weight of which the men lay on them. At the sight of these two persons, the hunter in- voluntarily felt an emotion, for which he could not account; the more he regarded the warrior standing before him, the more he seemed to find again in this martial countenance the distant memory of the fea- tures of a man he had formerly known, though it was impossible for him to recall how or where this intimacy had existed; but overcoming his feelings, and comprehending that his lengthened silence must ap extraordinary to the persons who had been Waiting so long for him to ad to them the com- pliments of eg ore sean etiquette de- mands, he at le ecided on 8 : * The hay de approach without fear and take his seat by the fire of a friend,” he said. The voice of the pale hunter rejoices the neart of the chief,”’ the warrior answered; “ his invitation pleases pis he will smoke the calumet of friend- ship with the pale hunter.” The Canadian bowed pas the sachem gave his squaw a sign to follow . and he crouched on heels in fro. t of the fire, where Loyal Heart and Lanzi were still asleep. Tranquil and the warrior then began smoking silently, while the young Indian squaw was busily engaged with the household duties and preparing the morning meal. The two men al- lowed her to do so, not noticing apparently the trou- ble she took. There was a lengthened silence. The hunter was kp while the Indian was apparently com- pletely absorbed by his Pe At last he shook the ashes out of his calumet, thrust the stem through his belt, and turned to his host. * The Walkon and the Maukawis,” he said, “ al- ways sing the same song; the man who has heard them during the moons of spring recognizes them in the moons of winter. Itis not thesame with man; he forgets quickly; his heart does not bound at the recollection of a friend; and if he meet him again after many moons, his eyes do not see him.”’ ‘“* What does the chief mean?” the Canadian asked, astonished at these words, which seemed to convey a reproach. “The Wacondah is werful,”’ the Indian contin- ued; “it is he who dictates the words my breast breathes; the sturdy oak forgets that he has been a frail erPlng. “Explain yourself, chief,” the hunter said, with great agitation; “the sound of your voice causes me singular emotion; your features are not unknown to me; speak, who are you?” “Singing-bird,’’ the Indian said, addressing the young woman, “you are cifvatl of asachem; ask the great pale hunter why he has forgotten his pe —the man who, in happier times, was his bro- ther?” ‘“*T will obey,”’ she answered, in a melodious voice; “but the chief is deceived; the great pale hunter has not forgotten the Wah-rush-a-menee of the Snake Pawnees.” “Oh!” Tranquil exclaimed, warmly, “are you really Black-deer, my brother? my heart warned me secretly of your presence, and though your features had almost faded from my memory, I expected to find a friend again.”’ ‘“Wah! is the pale-face a the truth?” the chief said, with an emotion he could not quite con- ceal; ““has he really retained the memory ef his brother, Black-deer?”’ ““ Ah, chief,’’ the hunter said, sadly; ‘‘to doubt any longer would be an insult to me; how could I su pose I should ever meet you here, at so considerable a distance from the wigwams of your nation?” “That is true?’ the Indian remarked, thought- fully; * my brother will forgive me.” “What?” Tranquil exclaimed, ‘‘is that a — I see there, the Singing-bird, that frail chil whom I so often tossed on my knee?” ‘“Singing-bird is the wife of a chief,” the Indian answered, flattered by the compliment; “ at the next fall of the leaves forty-five moons will have d since Black-deer bought her of her father for two mustangs and a panther-skin quiver.” Singing-bird smiled gracefully at the hunter, and went on with her duties. “Will the chief permit me to ask him a question?”’ Tranquil went on. “ My brother can speak, the ears of a friend are en.” m ye + tf did the sachem learn that he would find me ere?” ‘** Black-deer was ignorant of it; he was not seek- the hag pale hunter; the Wacon has per- os tted m to find a friend again, and he is grate- aa looked at the warrior in surprise. He smiled. “Black-deer has no secret from his brother,” he said, softly; “‘the pale hunter will wait; soon he know alL”’ aan brother is free to speak or be silent; I will wait.’ The conversation ceased here. The sachem had wrapped himself in his alo robe, and did not ap- pear disposed to give any further explanation at present. Lacy ar restrained by the duties of hos- pitality, which in the desert prohibit any ges tion of a guest, imitated the chief's reserve; but the silence had lasted but a few minu when the hunter felt a light hand laid on his shoulder, while a soft and affectionate voice murm his ear—" Good-morning, father.”’ And a kiss completed the silence. aren tae little one,’ the hunter replied, with a smile; “ did you sleep well?” “Ss lendidly, father.” Good; that is how [like to see you, my darling gir hd Father,” the inquisitive maiden said, as she look- ed around, “ have visitors arrived?” 2 AS you see.”’ Red-skins?” she asked, with an instinctive start of terror. “ All of them are not wicked,” he answered, with a smile; “these are kind.” hen, turning to the Indian woman, who had fixed her black, velvet-look- ing eyes On Carmela with simple admiration, he called out, “ Singing-bird!”’ The squaw bounded up likea young —rr - hg does my father waut?’ she asked, bowing gently. ‘‘ Singing-bird,”’ the hunter continued, “ this girl is my daughter Carmela,” and taking in his bony hand those of the two women, he clasped them together, adding with emotion, ‘* Love one another like sisters,’ ‘‘Singing-bird will feel very happy to be loved by the white lily,’’ the Indian squaw replied; “for her heart has already flown toward me.”’ Carmela, charmed at the name which the squaw with her simple poesy had given her, bent down af- fectionately to her and kissed her forehead. “*T love you already, sister,’’ she said to her, and, holding her by the hand, they went off fy twittering like two nightingales, Trangnil looked after them with a tender glance. Black-deer had witnessed this little scene with that Indian indiffer- ence which nothing ever disturbs; still, when he 0 found himself alone with the hunter, he bent over to Bes Fs said in a slightly shaking voice: ‘Wah! my brother has not angeds the moons of winter have scattered snow over his scalp, but bis heart has remained as good as when it was young.”’ At this moment the sleeper awoke. — . pe ‘* Hilloh!”*’ Loyal Heart said, gayly, as he looked up at the sun, “‘I have had a long sleep.”’ “To carly bi the truth,’’ Lanzi observed, “‘I am not an early bird, either. The poor beasts of horses must be t ty, so I will give them water.”’ “Very good!” said Tranquil; “‘by the time you have done that, breakfast will be ready.” Lanzi rose, leaped on his horse, and, seizing the lasso uf the others, went off in the direction of the stream without asking questions relative to the strangers. On the prairie it is so; a priest is an en- voy of God, whose presence must arouse no curios- ity. In the mean time Loyal Heart had also risen; suddenly his glance fell on the Indian chief, whose cold eye was fixed on him; the young man suddenly turned pale as a corpse, and hurriedly approached the chief. ‘*My mother!” he exclaimed in a voice quivering with emotion, **‘ my mother—”’ He could say no more. The Pawnee bowed peace- wa A him. ‘*My brother’s mother is still the cherished child of the Wacondah,”’ he answered in a gentle voice; ‘‘her heart only suffers from the absence of her son.”’ “Thanks, chief,” the young man said with a sigh of relief; “* forgive this start of terror which I could not overcome, but on perceiving you I feared lest some misfortune had happened.’ ‘*A son must love his mother; my brother's feel- ing is natural; it comes from the Wacondah. When I left the Village of Flowers, the old grayhead, the companion of my brother's mother, wished to start with me.” ~ ‘*Poor no Eusabio,’’ the young man. muttered, “he is so devoted to us.”’ “The sachems would not consent; grayhead is ne- cessary to my brother's mother.”’ “They were right, chief; I thank them for re- taining him. Have you followed. my trail from the village?”’ **1 did.” ‘*Why did you not awake me on your arrival?” ‘Loyal Heart was asleep. Black-deer did not wish to trouble his sleep: he waited.” “Good! my brother is a chief; he acted as he - thought advisable.”’ ‘“* Black-deer is intrusted with a message from the . sacbems to Loyal Heart. He wishes to smoke the — calumet in council with him.” “Are the reasons that have brought my brother here urgent?” * They are.”’ **Good! my brother can speak, 1 am gam: I Tranquil rose, and threw his rifle over his shoul- der. ‘* Where is the hunter going?’ the Indian asked. ‘“While you tell Loyal Heart the message I will take a stroll in the forest.” “The white hunter will remain; the heart of | Black-deer has nothi hidden from him. The wisdom of ae ane is great; he was brought up -skins; his place is marked out at the council-fire.”’ ** I will remain, then, chief, since such is the io While saying these words, the hunter resumed his seat, and said: ‘‘ Speak, chief, I am listening.’ The methodical Indian drew out bis calumet, and, to display the importance of the commissi th which he was intrusted, instead of filling it with or- dinary tobacco, he placed in it morhichee, or sacred. tobacco, which he produced from a little parchment bag he took from the pouch all Indians wear when. traveling, and which contains their medicine bag, and the few articles indispensable for a long jour- ney. When the calumet was fille, he lit it from a coal he moved from the fire by the vid of a medi- cine-rod, decorated with feathers ana ills. These extraordinary preparations led the hunters: to suppose that Black-deer was really the bearer of | important news, and they prepared to listen to hin with all proper gravity. e sachem inhaled two or three tt ge of smoke, a persed the calumet to | Tranquil, who ates near thesame operation, © handed it to Loyal eart. "The calumet stoalt the round read until all the tobacco was consumed. During this ceremony, which is indispensable at — every Indian council, the three men remained silent, When the pipe was out, the chicf emptied the ashes into the fire, while muttering a few unintelligible words, which, however, were probably an invoca- tion to the Great Spirit; he then thrust the pipe in © his girdle, and after reflecting for some moments, rose and began speaking: “ Loyal Heart,” he said, “‘ you left the Village of Flowers to follow the hunting-path at daybreak of © the third sun of the moon of the falling leaves; thirty sums have passed since that period, and we are hardly at the beginning of the moon of the pass- ing game, Well, during so short a period many things have occurred, which demand your imme- - diate presence, in the tribe of which you are one of the adopted sons. The war-hatchet, so deeply buried for ten moons between the prairie C : ches and the Buffalo Apaches, has suddenly been dug up in full council, and the Apaches are prepar- ing to follow the war-trail, under the orders of the wisest and most experienced chiefs of the nation. Shall I tell you the new insults the Apaches have dared to offer your Comanche fathers? What good would itbe’ Your heart is strong, you will obey the orders of your tathers, and fight for them.”’ Loyal Heart bowed his head in assent. ‘“*No one doubted you,” the chief continued; “s for a war against the Apaches, the sachems woul not have claimed your help; the Apaches are chat- tering old women, whom Comanche children can drive off with their dog-whips; but the situation has all at once become complicated, and it is more your presence at the council of the nation than the aid of your arm, though you are a terrible warrior, which your fathers desire. The Long-knives of the East and the Yoris have also dug up the hatchet, and both have offered to treat with the Comanches. An alliance with the pale-faces, is not very agree- able to red-skins; still, their anxiety is as they do not know which side to take, or party to protect.” lack-deer was silent. “The situation is indeed grave,” Loyal Heart answered; “it is even critical.” ~"s The chiefs, divided in opinion, and not kno which is the better,’ Black-deer continued, “sen me off in all haste to find my brother, whose wisdom 0)(0)() (E ee <€om aie ts , neo al —